


Blood Moon

by Gansey22



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale), Red Riding Hood (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Boys In Love, Canon Gay Relationship, Dark Character, Dark Fantasy, Falling In Love, Fantasy, First Love, Forbidden Love, Gay, Gay Male Character, Historical Fantasy, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, Love/Hate, M/M, Peter - Freeform, Red Riding Hood - Freeform, Red Riding Hood Elements, Sam - Freeform, Teen Romance, Unrequited Love, Valerie - Freeform, Werewolf, Werewolf Hunters, Werewolf Romance, Winter, m/m - Freeform, red riding hood movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 09:40:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gansey22/pseuds/Gansey22
Summary: In a small village, deep within the thickets and snow is a beast that has lain quiet for far too long.Sam has accepted that he’ll never be with Peter, that he has to marry Valerie, no matter how he really feels. It really shouldn’t matter, Peter can’t stand him anyway. But when an innocent girl is killed, and with the arrival of a dark stranger, Sam’s world as he knows it is destroyed.In its place is a village filled with secrets and lies and girls with smiles far too sweet. As the danger grows and the second blood moon nears, Sam and Peter look to find who the wolf is before he kills again.And Sam finally has begun to question wether or not he really should do the “right thing” or just do what he has wanted all along.
Relationships: Henry Lazar & Peter, Henry Lazar/Peter, Henry Lazar/Peter/Valerie, Peter/Valerie (Red Riding Hood)
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue - The Boy and the Rabbit

The first time he saw him, deep in the forest, the ground had been covered in blood. It was so long ago he wondered now if he had imagined it. The relief colored in the other boys desperate eyes, the agony. The blood was illuminated in the warm sunlight, shinning on the grass. He held his breath as he watched the boys terrified gaze, their eyes unable to break from each other. He barely even noticed that in the boy's arms was soft dead white rabbit, its throat had been slit. Its fur was matted with dried blood, its body limp and cold. The tall grasses bent and swayed around him as he walked up to the boy, careful not to spook him. Like he was a deer, though his arms covered in blood he still looked frightened and innocent. Like a sparrow that had caught the hawk in his talons and was suddenly surprised, terrified by his own nature, as if he understood. Even the flowers were stained, their petals violent and grotesque. "Are, are you okay?" He said breaking the silence as if with a knife and knelt by the boy. At the words he looked into his eyes again and saw that tears were falling down his cheeks. "hey, its-its okay." 

He wrapped his arms around him, this stranger, and held him tight. The boy sobbed into his shoulder, wrapping his trembling arms around him. "Its okay." he says again and gently pulled away the dead rabbit, its eyes glazed and still. The boy hiccuped and whipped his eyes on his ruined sleeves. "I didn't-i wouldn't-" the boy tried to say, his voice shaking. But he knew and he squeezed his wrist in reassurance, it was okay. He knew. In a nearby stream he dipped a part of his shirt that he had ripped off and started to wash the blood from the boy. They were perfectly still as he gently wiped off his face and hands and arms. The only sound filling the silence was their shallow breathing and the velvet hum of the forest; of birds and insects and the wind. "I think thats better." The boy's tears had stopped and he was clean again. In the boy's eyes he understood, but there also something he could not grasp and didn't have the chance to. The boy looked again at the dead rabbit in the cold grass, his eyes flickering and nervous. He understood.

There in the meadow they covered the dead rabbit in flowers. Violets, ferns and moss. Until he was gone and the only thing that was left was two boys holding hands as the day faded into the twilight. "Do you-" he started, shy of his words. The boy looked at him and it seemed as if they hadn't known each for just one afternoon, but for so much longer, in the way that their hands fit together, in the way their breathing dragged and lulled in harmony. "Do you want to go home?" he finished, his hands nervous but he wouldn't pull them away. The boy nodded "Lets go home." They walked together, away from the meadow stained with blood. Through trees that had long sharp thorns, past small fields and stoney brooks, together they walked home: hand in hand they weren't afraid. At the far reaches of their village he turned to the boy, whose gaze was lost in the cottages of the worn town. "Will i see you again? In the forest?" The boy looked to him, the soft breezes of the summer evening brushing his hair against his cheek which the boy tucked behind his ear. "Yes," he said softly, a promise in its tone, "Yes i will see you again."

Maybe it would have been better if they had never met, or if it had ended it right there at the edge of the forest. But as he watched the boy disappear down one of the village paths he felt as if this had happened before. A boy meeting another and a secret between them. A secret left far away in a meadow in the dark woods.


	2. Wolfs Time

The light that afternoon seemed to split and crack against the leaves of the solemn, cavernous wood. 

The days had turned bitterly cold, and the breeze nipped at Sam's exposed cheeks. He pulled his coat around him tighter, as he rode through the dim forest, trying to comfort himself with the thought of a warm hearth at home. He hadn't expected to be gone so long, but he had finished the order late and he had had to rush to the outpost so it could be shipped on time. He should have taken the main road, he thought regretfully, but the back road was quieter and he loved seeing the rich hues of the autumn leaves. And it gave him time. Time to think. As much as he wanted to go home he almost wished he didn't have to. That he could stay in this wood forever and he wouldn't have to face the inevitable when he returned. His father had talked to him, his grandmother had talked to him. But never did the thought of it not made his stomach churn. Never did it give rise to the feelings that he had hoped for except sinking dread. 

Earlier that day in the forge when his mother had come to call him and his father home to eat, she had taken him aside. "Sam, I know you not thrilled by the match, but i thought maybe you would still like to have this," she said beaming at him, in her hands she held a thin silver band etched with intricate curving flowers and leaves, "it was given to me by your father when we were betrothed and now, now you can give to your betrothed." Sam hadn't know what to say. What could he say? His mouth was dry as a bone and he was trying very hard to concentrate on the awful bracelet and not the ringing in his ears. "When we first learned of the match, your father wasn't very enthusiastic either, he tried desperately to get out of it. But we came to love each other, and we've had a wonderful life together." Her eyes glittered faintly in the fire light with tears which just made Sam feel even worse. She clasped her hands around his, pushing the cold bracelet into his palm. "And that's all i want for you sweetheart, to find happiness in your life with Valerie." He still cringed at the sound as the sound of her name echoed in his ears. Valerie Lupescu. His betrothed.

He knew he should be thrilled, overjoyed like his parents. But he had seen this coming for a long time and no matter how he tried to convince himself, no matter how much he lied or desperately tried to like Valerie in that way, he never could. He would never love her and it was all his fault. He couldn't even blame his parents which he still kind of did. They didn't even know. So what if he was in love with someone else? It didn't matter, they would never feel the same way about him, that was clear enough and he would never love anyone else so did it even matter who he married? He had hoped quietly though, that maybe he could go back to the city, Corsova, that he had visited when he was seventeen. He had stayed there for the summer with his father when he had gone on a business trip and it had been one of the most wonderful times of his life. He had felt free without his families watchful gaze and he had been enchanted by the vast crowded streets of people and the towering, gorgeous buildings. His cousin had meant to take over the family bussiness, but he had injured his arm last spring and it was unlikely he would be able to now. Crushing what could have been, all the plans he had secretly kept and dreamed about. 

With that hope gone you'd think he'd have resigned himself to his fate but it wasn't just the culture and the beauty of the city that had entranced him but the escape from an unrequited love that he had carried with him since he was ten. No he hadn't forgotten. How could he ever forget him? Would he ever lose the memory of his soft hazel eyes? Or the way that his hair fell over his face when he laughed? No he hadn't forgotten him when he had gone to the city, but at least he hadn't had to see him every day. Feel that same ache that had gnawed at him every night, that stung every time he saw his lazy stride or his mischievous smile. It was probably incredibly pathetic that he had been in love with the same boy for the past ten years but no matter the boys he had kissed or the girls he had forced himself to, he couldn't move on, he wasn't sure he had ever even tried to.

The wind seemed to burn his ears with its spite and as Sam adjusted his hood, he saw behind him the flash of a silver axe. He stiffened and tried to continue on casually, his horse stamping in the cold November air when he heard his name. "Lazar!" He closed his eyes and stifled a sigh. He was too exhausted for this today." He turned his horse swiftly to the voice. A woodsman stood in the road, tall and lean with clothes too worn and nefarious expression. Peter grinned but not in the way he remembered. No, this was not the grin he had so often thought of but that of a challenge, its curve mocking, his eyes narrowed. His axe was slung over his shoulder, his arm across. He carried a large bag that was hoisted over his shoulders and he ran a hand through his unkept hair, his eyes flashing. "Cel Tradat, greetings." He said trying hard to focus, his heart hammering in his chest, same as if this was the first time he had seen Peter. Every time the wound was fresh, raw inside him. It never healed, it was a constant tremor he carried, that sang every time he saw him. Peter. 

"My, so formal Lazar, we needn't bother with such pleasantries, its wolfs time and nobody should travel alone. I'll join you until the village, if you so wish." God his voice, Sam thought with an internal groan. 

"Of course you may." He said tilting his head. Peter walked beside him and he matched his horse to his smooth rolling gait. 

"I suppose though now you shall never be alone, since you are betrothed. My sincerest congratulations i assure you. I suppose all the girls will be heartily disappointed though that they can no longer play gold digger now that Valerie will be hanging on to your coattails." 

He laughed darkly, but Sam remained silent, keeping his eyes trained on the road. 

"I don't know how Valerie feels though, she didn't seem all too pleased when i saw her today, she didn't even know about the betrothal until i told her about it. Now thats not very sportsman like Lazar, trapping a girl into marriage like a country pheasant." Peter mused. 

"Wether or not she returns my sentiments is between us Cel Tradat, and its none of your business." He said calmly, wishing the village would soon be revealed through the endless dark trees but he knew that it was still a ways off. Peter turned to him, his hand twisting over the handle of his axe.

"Worried are we? I wouldn't be, her family has had their eye on you from the very beginning, like a prized stallion for sale, i doubt any protests from Valerie would put a stop to that kind of scheming." Peter said sneering. Sam clenched the reins tighter, though he was careful not to jerk on his horses mouth, he stopped and dismounted.

"I'm no competition, I'm next to nothing. Always have been." Peter said, his face mocking, his smile filled with animosity. "I just hope your happy knowing that she never wanted you. That she'll never love you. I guess you'll have to live with that though. Even if you weren't in love with her, you'd never have the back bone to stand up to your family, to stand up to this town. Even when we were kids you never did have the guts to say what you really wanted. Who you really wanted." It took all Sam's strength, as he stood inches away from Peter not punch him. Or kiss him.

"I guess thats just how it is. Perfect little rich boy marries the perfect destitute girl. Its like a fucking fairytale isn't it?" He said, his tone hard and bitter. 

"You know nothing." Sam said quietly, his voice dark, trembling with hate. In that moment he hated Peter, hated that he felt this way. He hated him even more though because he was right. Peter held his gaze, his eyes filled with anger, unimpressed. 

"Your right, I wish i did have the guts.," Sam seethed, they were so close now he could smell him, the woody smokiness and faint traces of cinnamon leaving his knees weak, "I wish i had the guts to leave here and never come back, i wish i did have the guts, then i would never have to see you or her ever again." He turned to mount his horse when he felt Peter grab him roughly by the wrist, his touch coursing through him like electricity.

"Your even more pathetic than i thought," Peter snarled, his eyes glittering. Maybe right now wasn't the time to think about pushing the hair out of his eyes and kissing his cheekbones softly; or the way the the last stretches of daylight turned his skin to the color of the sun filtering though honey, but damn it thats what Sam was thinking about right now.

"If you feel that way just fucking do it, but i highly doubt that. You perfectly little life is laid out for you, so stop bitching and act like you have a fucking clue about real life or like you have any kind of problems which you don't." 

Sam flinched, his words stinging, echoing in his ears. Maybe he should have felt something, done something. Anger or hatred or malice. Instead his shoulders sagged, his eyes filling with sadness, a hidden misery that had bloomed inside him, a dark thicket that had torn and mangled his heart. For once Peter seemed surprised, unsteady. As if he had expected anger, not surrender, not a sudden acceptance and a look of haunted despair. Sam turned away from him, reins clenched in his fist. 

"Maybe your right. But don't think for a moment i haven't had my share of this life's bitter draught. That i have lived in a steady kind of luxury, that i have wanted for nothing. I have wanted every day of my life and i shall never have what i so desire. And this i accept, i have forever departed from such a dream. And maybe it is pathetic or selfish to be trapped in such a state of wanting. Yes, i am going to marry Valerie, however do not say think that i shall revel in your discontent or lord it over you in glee. Do not think that it does not pain me deeply, for i grieve in ways you cannot imagine. Maybe you are right, but even if you are it doesn't mean i cannot feel, it doesn't mean it's right." 

Peter moved to say something but Sam was done listening, his breath shuddering, as the pain in his chest grew. Would it always be this way, he thought, feeling desperate in this all encompassing agony. Why couldn't he just let him go? 

They travelled in silence and soon the forest began to thin, large thick trees became reedy and sparse, causing them both great relief. He froze at the familiar sight of the slumbering village. Here they were again, together at the edge of the forest, like all those years ago. The memory flooded him and it was as if the village had grown younger, like that of when they had met. A time when he had not know such sadness. It seemed no matter where he went, no matter what he did, every place was a memory, every house and stone and brook held a thought and a dream. They paused at the heavy wooden gates of the village and glanced at one another. Sam was calm again, his face smooth, hinting no long hidden secret. The perfect son. It was a part he played well and everyone believed it. But in Peter's eyes he felt a wash of shame. He had revealed too much, had shown him parts that he could never take back. He was forever stained a coward and he couldn't bare to look into the eyes of the one he loved and see his image so tainted . He turned away as Peter hesitantly called his name, each step a final word. He was done wishing for Peter, done thinking about him or feeling this way. But with each step he felt not like he was regaining control but as if he were losing himself. He didn't look back. He wasn't sure if he did he would have the strength to leave.

. . .

He took his time washing and grooming his horse, Luca, once he had returned home, lingering in the stable longer than he would normally. He brushed his coat until it gleamed and he even polished all his tack before he finally decided he had no choice but go inside. He was freezing and now very dirty from giving Luca such a thorough cleaning. "I know, i know." He mummerd to the dappled gelding who was now happily attending to an apple he had given him. Grabbing his bag he dumped it in the forge on the way to the house and stamped the mud off his boots at the door. "Peter?" His mother called to him from the drawing room. "I'm home, sorry it took so long, the outpost was flooded with people." Hardly, there had only been three other customers there. "Well, you still have time, you'll have to hurry if were still going to attend the the Lupescu's dinner." She entered the room and kissed him on the cheek, her eyes looking over his appearance in disapproval. "Your mother's right son, we don't want to make a bad impression them." His father said as he came down the stairs, chuckling as his mother fussed over him, and Sam remembered with dread what he had successfully managed to block out. When a couple was betrothed the bride's parents held a dinner for the grooms family as a way to honor them. And since he was the groom, he had no chance of getting out of it.

"Mother, I-"

"No. No excuses young man. We will be leaving soon and if-" But Sam never learned what if was. Outside in the last rays dusk amongst the silent village noises and the croaking of a murder of crows; the ominous clang of a bell, that had not been used in ten years, rung. Any sign of comfort and peace was washed from their faces as the heard that odious sound. A sound that Sam had heard only once before in his life. They held their breathe and the dancing firelight which had seemed to flicker and draw merry shadows on the walls seem to grow long and conjure dark figures as again the bell tolled. It was in that last second, before everything changed that seemed to trigger it all. Like the heavy pause of an executioners scythe before it falls, a deep certainty that they feared but could not escape. 

And again the bell rung.

...

No one seemed to notice the door slam as they saw the cramped streets begin to flood with people. The color still had not come back to his mothers face since the first echo of the bell's ring, his grandmother had refused to leave the house. Sam glanced at his father who was trying to soothe his mother as the streets devolved into chaos and paranoia. It could have been an accident his father said trying to reassure them, but no matter the hope or comfort in his words, they knew. It was wolf's time. The sky was like a pale sheet of ice, solid and black that would tremble and crack under your hand. It would probably snow soon. It had always been one of Sam's favorite time's of year. When the air became thick and slow as if snow that was still air. The forge became dull, and quiet. The searing heat of the fire and the bitter cold were almost lazy in their intensity. They seldom used the forge in the winter except for their own projects or different things the villagers needed such as horse shoes or axes. "We'll go see what's happening Sam, Mihaela, i think it would be best if you stayed with mother. His mother tried to protest first but then nodded, her lips tight with anxiety and went back into the house.

A girl had been killed. That was the rumor that had spread like coal ashes amongst the villagers. At the Darabant farm near the river on the far outskirts of town. The lane was crowded and slow as him and his father made their way to the farm which was secluded even for a remote village. Sam chest felt heavy, as he pushed past dead ferns and rotting cedars. Nobody knew who the girl was yet or if it even was a girl. The Darabant's had been in Vernov for the fall, staying with family so they were safe. Who's daughter, sister, mother had been slaughtered still remained to be seen. The forest always seemed sadder during wolfs time, like even it knew that they were now prey. Sam glanced at his father once the reached the farm which had been boarded up, the fields slumbered and the could hear the prattle of the river as it wound back into the woods. He would never forget that sound. The way it still sickened him, turning his blood to ice. A horrifying scream ripped through the air like a knife, it seemed linger above them weighing on their shoulders, driving anyone who heard it almost mad with grief. Sam's throat tightened as they neared the abandoned grain fields that were covered in Widow's moss, a small kind of blue flower. Even they seemed to mourn, their stems bent and shriveled as the were crushed under panicked feet. That's when he heard her name as they reached the tight knit crowd. Ylenia. 

"We kept the peace, how could this have happened?" A girl said crying to her friend.

"The wolf has broken it." An older man snapped, his face sagging in remorse and torrent anger. 

No, no, no, he thought as violent, trembling agony coursed through him. But in the dying fields filled with crying it could not be denied. The violet blue flowers at his feet were splattered with streaks of dark red blood. His eyes finding a trail of horror among the innocent flowers to where a girl of only fourteen years old lay ripped in two among those same little flowers. Ylenia. Nia. 

Nia who had sat with him in the forge only yesterday. Nia who he had known since she was born. Nia, who was so good and kind and smart. Nia Valerie's little sister. Valerie appeared through the crowd, her blond hair a mess, her dress muddied and torn. "Mother?" She said, her voice weak and disbelieving. Her face moved from distress to devastation. 

"Ylenia!" Her scream tore through the crowd seeming to injure it, and they stepped back from the scene, as if they were seeing her again for there first time, and such a new wave of grief would collapse them. Valerie's mother sobbed uncontrollably in the arms of her father as Valerie leaned over her sister, her hands moving in shock from her mouth to her body to her dress, now covered in blood. Above them, unnoticed, the moon rose in the blackened night, stained with a dull scarlet red, a reminder of why they still locked their doors in such a small safe village. A reminder of why they left livestock in the square, found shredded to ribbons the following morning. A reminder that no matter their axes, or blades of steal they would forever be watched, they would forever be hunted by a foul and terrible beast. Among the mourners however it was not where he found his face. In the pale light on the edge of the fields Sam saw him. Peter. He was standing frozen in the swelling shadow of the forest. In that moment he didn't know why, but he was reminded of that rabbit. The rabbit so long ago that had also stained the flowers with blood. And the boy he had loved for so long, who he had walked in the forest with so many times lowered his head, is if in defeat. The sight was so despairing that Sam walked to him though his feet felt heavy and unwilling, his cloak trailing over the dew soaked grass. 

"Peter," He said softly and he touched his chin, his hand shaking, raising his face. His eyes were hard with brash anger but also pricked faintly with tears. It seemed as though they had lived a life time from that moment Peter had called to him on the road and this quiet moment between them, shelter by that same forest. "Peter," He said again when his hand was sharply knocked away. "Don't-" Peter snapped, turning away from him. It was so familiar, like every other time, it had always been Sam asking and Peter leaving. 

"Just don't." He said sounding angry but weary at the same time, his broad shoulders tense with exhaustion. Without another word he left, retreating back into the forest, into the night. Sam stayed there for long while, rooted to that spot unable to go back, unable to follow. And it was until some time after, when Sam felt something damp stain his shirt that he realized he had also been crying.


	3. Elks Head

Their candles flickered and sputtered in the frigid midnight air. Sam walked slowly behind his mother and father, his heart growing more numb with each step as they walked past thatched cottages and and moss covered goat sheds. After Peter had disappeared the villagers had retreated to the village, most of them gathering at the local tavern, called the Elks Head. Sam's father helped move Ylenia once everyone was gone, but Sam returned home, unable to stomach the sight any longer. He had escorted Valerie back to the village in a mutual silence, unable to muster any words of comfort other than offering her his condolences which she had accepted with a curt nod. The atmosphere surrounding them had been almost unbearablely thick with tension and he had been secretly relieved when he had caught sight of the crowded little cottages . Once she was home he given her a stiff hug, quickly making his departure. He wondered now if he should have lingered longer but he wasn't sure he would have been able to stand for one more second to see the hollow grief that seemed to consume her pale blue eyes.

Even from the main square you could see the dozens of little candles that sheltered the Lupescu's cottage creating a soft wreath of warm light. Faintly within they could hear women mummering and faint sobs. The old wood creaked under their shuffling feet as one by one entered the modest little cottage. 

"Yetta, Cesaire, my deepest condolences for your loss." Sam's father said with rigid controlled emotion as his mother enveloped Yetta in a hug, who's face was still damp with tears. Valerie had quickly retreated up to the open loft upon his arrival which everyone pretended not to notice. The cottage was cramped but comfortable with its worn furniture and crackling fire place. Dried herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling while a rich stew babbled merrily on the stove, the pieces of a still in progress quilt were draped over a large oak chest. It was for the most part, a quiet and cozy place all but for for sharp reminder of what they had came here for. Amongst the flickering candles, on a long wooden table, lay Ylenia. Her long chestnut hair and dress had been adorned with dried summer flowers, which for some reason just seemed to make the image even sadder. She had been dressed in a lavender gown, so you could no longer she her violent wounds but her skin was starkly pale, her face hollow. No, nothing about this girl lying on the table reminded him in any way of the teasing young girl who would constantly ask him questions and badger him to help in the forge. 

A few girls from the village were gathered around the table, draping more gifts and flowers over her still body, humming together an old mourning song.

Will you be weary, o older one,

When we have been called here hence,

When the sun has retreated, 

And the fields are slain,

Will you come to us yet?

Oh older one, you've come and gone,

Taking all I own,

My mother, 

My brother, 

My sister,

My son,

Leaving here to pay their debt,

Oh I have long wished to follow,

But still I work from fields i scythe,

The waters are red,

And the woods no longer sing,

As the older one follows me,

Like the shadow upon a knife,

Still one day,

he will call me home

Still I hurry 

home

Sam shivered at the old haunting lyrics which he had heard only a few times before but knew by heart. They were taught the song as children which he hadn't understood a the time but he now knew it's meaning. It was about a person whose whole family died and was left with nothing and he asks death to be with them but death refuses. So the person waits all their life to be reunited with them. Sam's mother put on a kettle for tea as Yetta joined Valerie in the loft where they proceeded to have hushed fervent argument that he could only hear pieces of. 

"I barely even know him-"

"You'll get to know him"

He tuned out the rest of the conversation even though he hadn't really meant to listen; he was embarrassed that he had overheard. So, Peter had been right, Valerie wasn't happy about the betrothal. Well, that made two of them. 

"Cesaire, come with us to the tavern." Sam said, clearing his throat, deliberately avoiding Valerie's heavy stare.

"Let the women grieve in their own way." His voice was soft as he forced himself to nod in Valerie's direction and to the other girls in the cottage; some of whom burst out giggling at his acknowledgement of them. He winced in discomfort at their inappropriately timed affections. Cesaire nodded, his sunken eyes weary and lost at the same time, his appearance was mucky, but that might of just been from the hard days work. Yetta thanked his father once again for coming before the left the now stiflingly warm cottage. The cool breeze felt so good on Sam's skin, he paused to unbutton the top buttons of his coat, which caused him to almost slam in to Peter who had been walking up the steps to the Lupescu's cottage. 

"Sor-ry," he said a violent blush spreading over his face, mortified that he had stuttered, as Peter caught him by his sleeve to keep him from falling back. 

"Watch where you're going." Peter said roughly his eyes dark and unyielding. For a moment, all Sam could do was stare at him, his hair was messy and unkempt, a pale blush had stained his cheeks probably from the splintering cold. Peter quickly snatched his hand back, shoving it into his coat pocket. As if he had touched some foul thing. Embarrassed and hurt, Sam muttered another apology while he mentally berated himself for being such an idiot. He quickly brushed past him, refusing to let himself linger over how Peter had grabbed him or how his stomach was sick with anxiety from such little contact. He quickened his pace, hurrying to catch up with his father and Cesaire who has almost reached the tavern. 

...

The Elk was in a complete uproar, the sound almost deafening as they entered. The musty cavernous space was filled to the brim with people talking and shouting and the sour smell of ale. Sam had never really liked the tavern, it was often filled with unsavory drunks and relentless gambling, but he sometimes came later in the quieter evenings for a pint after work. Cesaire was immediately overtaken by several towns men, all arguing over what they should do about the wolf. Sam's father pushed them through the crowd to the bar where he ordered them three ales, two of which Cesaire drank when Sam showed no interest in his. Through the cacophony of words and voices he heard the weak speech of Father Augustine, who was desperately trying to make some sort of argument. He was a dainty, soft-spoken man who kept their battered little church alive and tried to give them consul during grievous times. However he never really made any head way, for he was too young to warrant any respect from the older villagers and too new to seek any support from the younger folk. He still tried to claw some interest from the towns folk by showing off his city ways and modern religious practices he had learned in Versav, but it only seemed to isolate him further. However fate had for a moment seemed to take pity on him, and the villagers talk dampened as Father Augustine's voice rose. 

"It's been twenty years since the wolf has taken a human being, we should see this as a blessing." He said fervently his only response being glares and acid jeers. 

"That's because we sacrifice our best livestock every full moon to that devil." A harsh voice silenced what little argument Father Augustine had been building, ripping through the hall like a blunt axe. The Reeve pushed through the crowd, his small eyes narrowed paired with a sadistic grin; arrogantly knocking a tray out of a barmaids hands, who let loose a rather creative string of curses. 

"I don't mean any disrespect, Father," he said sneering as he addressed him, causing Father Augustine to shrink back.

"But we have put up with this hellish fiend for long enough, we should have slaughtered the creature long ago. What is one foul beast against a band of men? I say we kill it!" Roars of approval shook the groaning walls, though many looked weary at the Reeve's suggestions including Sam himself, shaking their heads at his bravado. 

"I have called upon Father Solomon, a revered leader of my order in Versav." Father Augustine interjected, desperate to regain some control of the situation. "

He has slayed witches and werewolves through out the lands." Father Augustine said, becoming more and more animated as he waxed poetic about his idols travels and exploits. 

"He will rid of this monster, as only the will of God can."

"No. He'll use us as a platform to boast his ego, I will let no outsider, avenge my daughter for tainted glory." Cesaire growled his face twisted in animosity at the priest. 

"Quite right you are, these religious fanatics tend to get a bit carried away. Soon we'll be having holy goat sacrifices and self-mutilation on our hands." A velvet husky voice snaked through the crowd, several confused faces turned to the source which was a dark stranger at the bar; draped in a black cloak, an untouched frothing mug of cider in front of him.

"Right as you may be, you are a stranger, and have no voice in town affairs." Father Augustine said though he was largely ignored.

"I have seen many a witch hunt in my time and many innocent felled, though I am young; and this "father", will only use you to gain glory for himself. He may even pretend to have slain the creature only to leave you to your fate." He took a long drink, his tan throat flashing from under his hood, as many grunted and nodded in agreement. Sam felt uneasy at this consul, even though he himself didn't think the hunt was a good idea. Hunting the wolf had long been abandoned for some decades, something that Sam had always been a little selfishly thankful for. His Grandfather had died during one of these hunts and it had always terrified him as a young boy the thought of his father embarking on one. A crack of light split through the crowd, illuminating Peter's face causing Sam's stomach to twist in horror as he realized something. Peter would be part of this hunt, he would never let himself be kept behind, not by anyone, not even by Valerie. Peter sat in one of the crowded stairwells and thankfully, ignored him. Sam was glad for he didn't think he could muster the energy to mask his agony. 

"We know it's lair lies in Mount Grimmor, more bones than a butcher shop are scattered there on that path." Ignat remarked, the tavern keeper who had halted wiping down steaming glasses as the idea of the hunt took shape and the crowd gained enthusiasm.

"We all know the weaknesses of the wolf, weaknesses that will be its down fall." The Reeve said, drawing out a large and thick silver dagger.

"It can't come out in daylight," a farmer named Iorghu shouted, raising his ale, sloshing it on a few unfortunate patrons in his excitement. 

"It can't step on to holy ground!" This time it was Daciana who spoke, a barmaid who was caring with one arm a large heavy tray laden with drinks.

"And there's silver!" The Reeve said, slamming his knife into one of the large wooden tables, earning violent cheers and earning a sharp glare from the long forgotten priest. 

"Maybe Father Augustine is right," Sam said loudly, almost unable to believe that he had spoken out loud. The tavern became quiet and he tried not to blush as several pairs of eyes pierced him like that of the Reeve's dagger.

"Maybe we should wait." He said, losing confidence as he spoke, the air thick with disdain and the word 'coward' that several muttered.

But he couldn't accept this without a fight. Without saying anything.. He had loved Yelina like a little sister, but vengeance wouldn't bring her back and no amount of man power could possibly kill the wolf. He couldn't believe how reckless and stubborn the town was being but maybe he could, maybe he had overestimated, as they underestimated Father Augustine. 

"Maybe...you should try to find your courage." That same rich velvety voice ground against his ears, causing him to grit his teeth at its composure. Sam opened his mouth however he couldn't seem to close it as he saw the strangers face for the first time; his heart gaining an erratic beat as he held his gaze. The stranger was surprisingly very young, almost the same age as him. His eyes were like that of burnt honey, as soft and as smooth as his voice. He held his gaze for so long he should have looked or maybe it was only for one second that they studied one another. But in his eyes, in its depths he had seen a flash of something, something more than this mask of disinterested amusement; and he thought, maybe in that moment, this dark stranger had seen something of him. Brown waves framed his tan angular face, falling in his eyes which he swept back with a slender hand. He was one of the most beautiful men Sam had ever seen in his life. From his lips drawn in an arrogant smirk, to the way he leaned against the worn bar like he lectured villagers everyday on werewolf hunts. 

Sam tried to regain some composure, scrambling for some kind of retort but it was really his fathers hand on his shoulder that deflated any argument he might have made. He looked to his father looking for some kind of support but found only determination. In that simple glance, Sam's decision was made. He couldn't let his father down, he couldn't let him go alone. And he couldn't bear the thought of losing Yelina and his father. Not to mention Peter, who had been staring at the newcomer with an inordinate amount of disdain for him having said so little.

"You want to hunt the wolf?

-let's hunt it." 

"Let's kill it!" Peter said, jumping down from the stairs, landing in front of Sam, his eyes narrow with disgust causing him to wonder what Valerie had said to Peter that had triggered such burning hate in his eyes. 

"Let's kill it!" Echoed in the mouths of the distressed and ale addled towns folk, and a sickening dread settled upon Sam as the chant rang out deafeningly in the hall and the hunt was planned.

...

The tavern seemed to plunge into an organized frenzy as cups slammed and axes were grabbed. Several men had gone to collect weapons and sharpen blades. The cold seemed to fall away as the villagers became consumed with preparations for the hunt.

"Sorry if I've put a wrench in your plans, but they were going to do it wether I said anything or not. Touchy folk these villagers. I've come across more level-headed vagrants, not that the aren't all quite charming." Sam stiffened at the strangers amused tone, his eyes avoiding his penetrating gaze even if his heart could not. 

"My name's Gerridan. Gerridan Rosu." He said, falling into a sarcastic sweeping bow which only irritated Sam further.

"Now there's no need to give me the cold shouldr, it should be a bit of fun this hunt." He mused, his smile growing wider. 

"I think, we do not share the same idea of 'fun'," Sam spat roughly and turned to leave as the stranger tugged him back, locking his grip on Sam's arm, pushing him behind one of the large wooden beams, blocking the street from view.

"I think you don't even know what fun means anymore, I think you spent too long looking over your shoulder, looking at someone else to even remember what you want anymore." Sam's cheeks burned with embarrassment and he felt a rush of anxiety as Gerridan leaned closer to him, too closely, their foreheads almost touching. His hand grazed over Sam's, soft and warm, trapping him under his grip. But even though he was reluctantly intrigued by Gerridan, this dangerously handsome stranger was unable to drive the persistent worry from his mind that still gnawed at him.

His eyes were fixed on the corner where Peter had disappeared, Gerridan's words echoing with harsh truth in his ears. Why he bothered he couldn't understand. Peter was stubborn reckless and effortlessly insulted him daily. But he had never forgotten the boy had once known. The boy who had made him a little carved wooden horse when they were children. The boy whom he had taken to their meadow, and laid amongst flowers and gazed at the stars with. The boy who had almost driven him mad with longing while he tried to distract himself while he had stayed in Corsova. But he never forgot him, he never had loved anyone else. And Peter would never love him in return, his mind and soul consumed by Valerie. His betrothed. He almost cried out laughter at the mess he was in or maybe he would have broke down crying at the whole bloody situation, but he didn't. 

"My name is Samuel. Samuel Lazar. But I'm just called Sam." He said quietly, his voice soft, his breathing shallow and uneasy.

"Sam." Gerridan repeated after him, dragging out the short name, like it was that of a king or god he said it with such familiarity. He finally released Sam's arm which he was both grateful and strangely sorrow for. But it didn't matter. He doesn't matter. He was in control again, and he pushed past Gerridan without another word. Leaving him standing behind the wooden beam, Sam gripped the little silver bracelet in his pocket so hard it could have shattered as he went to fetch his weapons from the forge, determined to drive every thought of Gerridan or Peter from his mind.


End file.
